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From: mattm@apple.com (Matthew Melmon)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: World of Two Moons - I
Message-ID:
Date: 14 Nov 92 00:40:25 GMT
Sender: news@gallant.apple.com
Followup-To: alt.startrek.creative
Organization: Apple Computer, Inc.
Lines: 374
For my next trick, I shall try something most people probably
won't realize is a cross-over (saving, of course, for the fact
I've just spilled the beans). Again, as with everything else
I've done - I'm afraid this will be 'serialized.' Which is to
say, in several parts. Which is to say, it ain't finished yet.
Now, with Dune, Gone with the Sunset, Belly of the Whale, and
Five Star Trek - I have managed to finish the story.
It just takes a while...
Also, as with everything else I've done, Wesley figures
prominently. *I* think he's cute as hell, even if the writers
didn't have a clue what to do with him...
Sans further babbage:
World of Two Moons: Part I
Wesley awakened with a start. The dream. It had happened again.
The strange woman with unbelievably long hair. And fins! But
beautiful, even so. A mermaid. Or a siren.
The sheets were uncomfortable.
He pushed them away and stood up on the bed. His skin was very
pale. Geeks always have pale skin, he thought. The moonlight
only made him seem even more pale. But the woman in his dream.
Now, she was pale.
Wesley.
He didn't like that name. It wasn't a bad name, but it was very
soft. Crusher. Another strange name. Especially when juxtaposed
with Wesley. Wesley Crusher. A soft, brutal man? Hardly.
He was a geek.
But not for long. Wesley smiled in the darkness. A smile no one
could see. But even if they could, they wouldn't understand.
Now? Should he do it now? His breath started to come with more
difficulty. God, the trouble he would be in.
But so the fuck what? Now it was.
Wesley got dressed.
Nobody had stopped him on his way to the transporter chamber. The
computer, of course, knew he was there. The computer was suposed
to stop people from doing suspicious things. But the computer
wasn't about to stop Wesley.
He had seen to that.
The tingle of re-materialization passed. He had always liked that
feel. Dull red emergency lights came on. The Klingon Bird of
Prey was only set up with it's emergency lights. Or so the
Federation officials responsible for it thought.
Wesley stepped off the antique ship's transporter platform. A
very famous little craft, this. Captain Kirk - James T. - had
used it to save the Earth. He did that so frequently. Nobody
ever accused Kirk of being a geek. Now, the little thing was a
tourist attraction here in San Francisco.
Tourist attraction and geek expirement. Wesley had convinced the
Academy to let him modify some of the onboard systems. Like the
warp drive. The shields. The computers.
And the cloaking device.
They didn't know about that one. He'd had enough contact with the
Romulans to make some guesses about their new cloaking technology.
Working with the Klingon model, he'd made a few alterations. It
might almost replicate the Romulan level of undetectability. Of
course, it might also blow up in his face.
What the fuck? You only live once.
And he was tired of being a geek.
Wesley sat in the captains chair. Even in this antique, it felt
so much more authoritarian than the Enterprise. None of that
triad crap on a Klingon warship. One ship, one captain.
And now, that captain was him.
"Computers," said Wesley.
There was a hum. The consols came to life.
"Awaiting instruction," replied the generic female voice.
"Initiate launch sequencing."
The Bird of Prey - Jamie, he called it - was kept inside. There
was a huge pseudo-glass dome covering the display hall. That dome
wouldn't be there much longer. He was going to cause a lot of
damage. It made his blood race.
"Launch sequence initialized and waiting further instruction."
Wesley sucked his lower lip into his mouth for a moment. The
exhibition hall computers would have detected the power-up. But
they were covering his ass. Nothing would have been reported.
Yet. But crashing through that ceiling was another matter.
Structural integrity would not be threatened. The exhibition
hall's computers would still cover for him. But when the Bird of
Prey crashed into the San Francisco night - that would be a
different story.
And there were the orbiting destroyers - the Dahlia and the
Kareninna. They would notice.
"Launch," said Wesley.
The ship lurched. Jamie was old, but she could perform. Could
probably out-maneuver anything in the fleet. There was a thud. A
brief shudder. Then a cascade of falling shards. He was in the
night sky.
Blasting away with too much thrust would throw down a rain of
deadly radiation. He didn't want to do that. Better to take it
up into low orbit nice and slow. That would give the cruisers
floating around plenty of time to lay in an intercept. But that
shouldn't matter. Either his pseudo-Romulan cloak would work, or
it would blow the little Bird to so much metalic dust.
___________
In standard Earth orbit, the destroyer Dahlia glided lazily above
the planet. The duty officer had taken reports from San Francisco
with some skepticism. Why would anybody try to steal an antique
Klingon warship? And how could they be foolish enough to think
they'd get away with it. But scanners quickly confirmed the
reports.
"Captain, I think you'd better come to the bridge... immediately."
____________
Wesley saw the destroyer moving to intercept. Technically, he was
outgunned, outmaneuvered, out shielded, and generally overpowerd.
Furthermore, the Klingon cloaking techology was thoroughly
understood by the Federation.
The lazy intercept was understandable.
The Dahlia was hailing him. He ignored them. Very soon, he would
be free of the upper atmosphere. Even the Romulan technology
would not help much in such an environment. To many ionized
particles. Even in high Earth orbit, the planet's magnetic field
would betray him. But only if they looked. The Klingon
technology shouldn't require that they look. The Dahlia crew
would be momentarily confused.
He was counting on that.
The Dahlia was raising her shields. Good. That would use up
time. She was charging her tractor beam. A ship of that size
wouldn't be able to hold him. Wesley knew that. He knew the
Dahlia very well, in fact. But they didn't know that. They
didn't know about all the work he'd put into this little falcon.
Jamie.
He cleared the atmosphere and began to accelerate.
The tractor beam locked on. He increased thrust. The beam
faltered. That would surprise them. They were charging their
phasers.
"Cloak," he said.
___________
On the bridge of the Dahlia, a moment of confusion.
"We've lost them," said an ensign.
"What do you mean, 'lost them?' It's a Klingon cloaking device!
Find them!"
The ensign tried furiously. Nothing. He turned slowly to the
captain.
"I'm sorry, Captain. We are unable to compensate for the cloaking
device. It is _not_ of Klingon manufacture..."
____________
Wesley had cleared the gravity well. Cleared most of the
radiation belt. The Dahlia was bringing itself about. It knew
his general direction. They would find him sooner or later, so
long as he remained in the soup of interplanetary space.
But he wasn't about to do that.
"Warp..."
____________
On the Dahlia bridge, the ensign looked up from his console.
"Captain, the Klingon ship has entered warp space. After-image
analysis indicates a departure at... warp seven."
"Impossible!"
The bridge was quiet.
"Captain, the Kareninna is hailing us."
____________
Free from the Terran system, Wesley relaxed. It was still a long
way to where he was going - but only he knew where that was. The
cloak was working perfectly. And Jamie was a small ship. He knew
the Enterprise could never track him. And thus he knew the
Federation was helpless.
He was free.
"Free to follow a dream," he said aloud. "Only a dream."
But no. Not only. There _was_ a world of two moons. He had
found in. How? Impossible to say. The dreams told him where to
look. And there it was.
So it wasn't only a dream.
He probably should have told someone...
No! That's the geek thinking again. He was going to do this by
himself. Fuck the Federation... The Enterprise would come
looking for him. His mother. And Picard. He liked that. Let
them look.
Let them look.
____________
The admiral stared blankly at Picard for a moment. Then
continued.
"So you see, Picard... We have a bit of a problem."
The captain rested his fingers on his desk. The admiral could not
tell, but Picard was smiling to himself. To think that Wesley was
finally acting like a rash young man. Finally.
Thank God it didn't happen on my ship, thought Picard.
"You are certain, admiral, that it was Wesley?"
"It is the most logical explanation, captain. Wesley had several
ongoing projects involving the Bird of Prey. He was retrofitting
several modern technologies... Re-useability experiments. And
there's the cloaking device. I can count the number of people who
can take apart and re-assemble even the Klingon device. But
unless a Romulan agent has infiltrated the Academy..."
The admiral broke off. His eyes widened.
"Now, admiral!" interjected Picard, "I don't believe for a moment
that Wesley is acting as a Romulan agent."
"I hope not... But you do think it was him?"
"Yes."
"And you'll find him?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But the place to start is where he started.
You can expect us in a day, admiral."
____________
From Ten Forward, Picard watched the Earth grow larger. His
affection for the world of his birth had never dimmed. It never
failed to wash him with emotion. Riker was guiding the ship in.
Picard was thankful for the time to reflect.
He could feel Guinan move up behind him. Picard tensed
involuntarily. Guinan was a mystery, and while mystery fascinated
him - he didn't always appreciate it so close to home.
"It makes for a wonderful picture, doesn't it, Captain?"
Picard could only nod. He knew that if he spoke, his voice would
betray his emotion. He didn't want that. Not now.
The planet stopped growing in size. They had assumed standard
orbit. Soon enough, the search would begin. It was a daunting
task. Looking for a cloaked ship in the vastness of space. And
Wesley, he was now an unpredictable quantity. The Wesley that
Picard had known would never have been capable of such a feat.
And Picard was glad he no longer knew Wesley.
This was a mystery more to his liking.
"Commander Data to Ten Forward," he commanded.
Picard had a plan.
____________
Wesley dreamed. He was underwater. Looking up. Two pale, white
eyes stared down at him. Moons. This world had two moons. He
had seen them over and over again.
Something moved between him and the pale white eyes. Something
slender, with billowing fins. And hair. Long, long black hair.
Almost a woman. Her eyes were large and pale as well. And they
burned with fire.
A shark circled about them. Wesley was afraid, but he knew it was
a dream. He also knew the woman was not afraid. She floated
lazily at the center of the shark's circle. The monster darted
in.
And was slammed away. Something invisible. Something
irresistable. Batted it away like a small insect. The shark
trembled for a few moments. Spasms of confusion. Then began
circling again. Oblivious to it's own danger.
The shark knew no fear. The strange woman knew no fear. Only
Wesley knew fear - but of which one?
The shark attacked.
This time, an ark of pale red light connected it to the floating
woman. The shark continued in it's path. But it was dead.
Wesley could tell. It glided past the woman.
It sank into the depths.
He was alone with her now.
The woman smiled. Who is she, Wesley thought? The woman smiled.
Who?
"Winnowil," said a voice in his mind.
Wesley woke with a start.
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From: mattm@apple.com (Matthew Melmon)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: World of Two Moons - II
Message-ID:
Date: 1 Dec 92 20:54:03 GMT
Sender: news@gallant.apple.com
Followup-To: alt.startrek.creative
Organization: Apple Computer, Inc.
Lines: 264
Part II
Beyond the massive transparent planes of glass, a crescent of blue Earth
cut across the black void of space. Guinan rotated a glass slowly in her
hand, even as the planet spun about its own axis.
As she wiped the glass with a soft cloth, she mused about Wesley's
actions. Strange, they were. But not entirely unexpected. Sooner or
later, it is always the way of youth to rebel agains the expectations of
their seniors. Wesley's reaction had been extreme, even as it was
belated.
And then, Guinan dropped the glass.
It shattered upon the counter as she put a hand to her forehead.
Pain!
Her breath came rapidly, when it came at all. Through a haze of agony,
she saw people coming towards her. Members of the crew. She collapsed
against the bar. Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
The captain must be warned. She felt arms supporting her. People were
calling her name. So many voices! Impossible. She knew it was
impossible. There were only a handful of people in Ten Forward, but she
heard thousands of voices!
Or the same voice, a thousand times...
And something like laughter.
Blackness and cold overcame her. She fell into the shattered glass.
____________
Shattered glass, everywhere. From the massive dome that had blocked out
the chill San Francisco air. Picard, Data, and Counselor Troi, walked
amidst the rubble.
They stopped where the Bird of Prey had been resting.
"Well Data," began the Captain, "What would Mr. Holmes do now?"
Data looked about thoughtfully for a moment.
"I do not think, Captain, that we shall find any relevant clues here.
Though this may be the 'scene' of the crime, it is not its point of
origin."
"Crime," said Counselor Troi, "is perhaps too strong a word."
Data looked at her.
"Theft is a crime, Counselor."
Picard cleared his throat.
"Yes. Well, where should we begin?"
"We have begun, Captain..."
"Yes, but where shall we really begin?"
"I do not understand, Captain..."
"What next, Data?"
"Yes. To understand the crime, we must understand the criminal. That is
why I had asked for Counselor Troi's presence. We must know what Wesley
was thinking, before we can hope to know where he has gone. To track a
small, manueverable ship - one that is as well cloaked as a Romulan war
vessel - is simply not within the realm of practicality."
____________
Hovering beneath that pane of ocean where light becomes dark, Winnowil
smiled. These strange new beings pleased her. The young, restless one
pleased her most. For a moment, she was sad - she had known someone like
that once.
Long ago.
Winnowil looked towards the moons that she could not see. He was still
there. In the Palace. Above and beyond the world. But held by it.
Trapped. Wanting to leave, but not wanting to leave behind.
Rayek. He had found the strange new worlds first. In his magical quest
for the other vessels of the High Ones. Winnowil had only followed, but
she paid these aliens more mind than Rayek, for whom only the High Ones
were of interest.
But Winnowil had long ago tired of the High Ones. Indeed, as the years
have passed, the skills of Elves here and now had perhaps eclipsed the
forefathers of their race. Certainly Rayek. He and the Palace were
essentially of one mind and body.
Winnowil flushed with pride. She, too, had grown. Just as excercise
makes the muscle stronger, so too has use of her powers improved their
range. Their scope. Their force...
A cry for help!
From this world. From this sea. Like a darting fish, Winnowil was gone.
Bursting through the sea, alive with strength. One of the Leviathan's
was in danger.
In pain.
Her mind raced ahead, arriving in the blink of an eye. Trolls! They had
learned to built powerful ships. Heavy woods and steel. She could not
break apart their hulls as she could the more fragile human craft.
The trolls were hunting. She saw the harpoons fire upon the gentle
giants of the deep. She felt the creatures terror and pain. Its mind
was vast, but its thoughts were emotions.
Her body caught her mind. Hundreds of yards beneath the surface of the
sea, the trolls' doom spun unseen. Above her, the powerful hull cut
through the brilliant dome of light that marked the water's end. A
dagger. A spear. A weapon. A fierce concentration wracked her body.
If she could not crack the hull, she would crack the sea!
Crack the sea!
Winnowil flung her arms wide. The waters parted. A canyon in the ocean,
robbing the hunting ship of that which supported it. In an instant, the
troll ship passed from unshakeable confidence to unknowable terror. The
sea had swallowed them!
Exhausted, Winnowil released her hold on the waves. There was a
thunderous clap. Deafening. She hadn't consider that. But it was over.
She watched the trolls die.
She moved towards one the wounded giant. Several long spears protruded
from its flesh. Winnowil could heal it. She would heal it. She was
still the greatest healer this world had known, even if those who walked
the surface had forgotten of her.
Or made her the stuff of dreams and nightmares.
____________
Data stood stiffly in the center of Wesley's Star Fleet room, turning
about every so often to observe. Picard and Troi fumbled about.
"So, Inspector?"
"That would be me, Captain?"
"Yes, Data. What have you deduced so far?"
"The evidence would suggest the suspect left in hurry."
"Fear of discovery?"
"I do not think so, Captain. At least, I do not think the suspect was
afraid of any discovery being made in this room. Often, an individual
who fears discovery of something wrong goes to great lengths to create a
facade of rightness. This chamber does not look particularly 'right.'"
"What's wrong with it?" asked Troi, "And why do you keep using the word
'suspect?' I find it distracting and a little annoying."
"Nothing is 'wrong' with the appearence of the room, other than to say it
is not 'right.' It is not particularly well-kept. Nor is it
particularly not well-kept. Often, a person with something to hide will
exhibit more extreme behavior towards every day things. As for the word
'suspect,' Counselor, I use it because it is accurate. Which word would
you prefer?"
"Wesley."
____________
Doctor Crusher helped Guinan sit up. The instruments had reported no
signs of physical trauma, yet the evidence of pain on the woman's face
was readily evident. It obviously took great effort for her to speak.
Doctor Crusher told her not to, but Guinan insisted.
"I must tell the Captain. Warn the Captain!"
She winced in agony. Doctor Crusher raised an injector. Guinan waved
her off.
"There's something out there... Something dark. Cold."
Her breath was coming in gasps. Doctor Crusher pushed her back down on
the medical bed. Ignoring the feeble protestations. She raised the
injector. Pressed it against flesh. In moments, Guinan had passed into
a comforting oblivion. Doctor Crusher tapped her communicator.
"Captain..."
____________
Troi had become impatient with Data. She turned to Captain Picard.
There was more to this room than misplaced clothing. There was something
here! Or the fading aroma of something that was here.
"Captain," she said, "a powerful emotional drama has played itself out in
this room."
"A struggle?"
"A struggle, yes. But not of bodies. Of minds. And wills. But not
entirely a struggle. It is more of a..."
Picard looked at her expectantly. Troi relized that what she would say
would seem funny. Or embarrasing. Or both. But it is what happened.
What she felt had happened.
"More of a what?" the Captain asked.
"A seduction, Captain."
She could see the faint twitch of a smile form on his lips. She rushed
on.
"An alien seduction. The emotional residue remains. I believe that I
can form a clearer picture of what transpired by entering a trance. I
will need to concentrate for quite some time. Without interruption."
Her seriousness was infectuous. Picard nodded. Grimly. An alien
seduction? He did not like the sound of that.
Troi sat upon the floor. She controled her breathing. Rythmic. Her
eyes closed. Time passed. Picard and Data waited. And then, her eyes
snapped open. A look of terror. Her body arched.
"Captain!"
Picard rushed to her.
"Eyes! Two eyes! No! Moons! Two moons! Water... Waves! Something
is pulling me down! Pulling me down! Captain!
She screamed.
And then, fell silent.
"Captain..." chirped a voice from nowhere. Picard jumped. It was Doctor
Crusher.
Captain Picard was not Captain Picard for being unable to react quickly.
"Beam us up immediately, Doctor. We have a medical emergency."
Troi was not breathing.
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From: mattm@apple.com (Matthew Melmon)
Subject: World of Two Moons - III
Sender: news@gallant.apple.com
Message-ID:
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 00:17:44 GMT
Organization: Apple Computer, Inc.
Followup-To: alt.startrek.creative
Lines: 209
Part III
Information. It was his name. His purpose. To analyze and
provide information. And he was very good at it. An artificial
being developed to augment the capabilities of creatures designed
by the chance collisions of a billion years.
Data had, at his fingertips, the universe as the Federation knew
it. Every star. Every planet. Everything. A sea of information
so vast, no mortal being could absorb it. Even Data could not
master it all. But he did not need to.
Moons and water.
And life.
These criteria would limit considerably the number of worlds he
need consider. Wesley could not have discovered a new star given
his available resources. Furthermore, he could not track the
source of the telepathic beings 'transmissions.' He must have
deduced the location of the planet from available knowledge. If
Wesley could do it, it stood to reason that Data could. Unless
the basis for the choice depended in some part upon a thought
process alien to an artificial creature.
A guess.
____________
Doctor Crusher sighed. There was nothing she could do. Troi was
not regaining conciousness. And the doctor had no idea why.
There was no reason for it. As with Guinan, nothing was
physically wrong with the Counselor.
Nothing but a coma.
Beverly looked at the Captain.
"I don't know, Jean-Luc. I just don't know. She shows no sign of
physical trauma. She should be fine. I can keep her like this
indefinitely. But..."
Picard noded. But should they? Was she really dead? Would her
mind recover? Doctor T'Sellar brushed her hand across Troi's
forehead. Picard waited for the enigmatic Vulcan to speak. They
were a mysterious, powerful race, these Vulcans. The Federation
was fortunate to have encountered them.
"She is trapped in a state of contemplation," said the Vulcan
after several moments. "This condition is not unknown to us. It
is actually common among the very holiest of our people."
"A trance?" asked Doctor Crusher.
"Yes. One of this depth is almost never achieved by any but the
greatest monks. Her mind has completely left this plane. No link
to the body remains. Perhaps her Betazed training will serve her.
Perhaps not."
"If not?" demanded Picard.
T'Selar knew the humans would not understand. They did not see
this as a fascinating development. They saw it as a horror. A
tragedy. And her experience with humanity taught T'Selar that
they did not take fundamental truths well, where such truths
conflicted with their own desires. If Counselor Troi's training
was not sufficient, she would never return to her body. She would
be lost.
"If not, she has - for all purposes - died."
That was the answer. And already she could see the signs of
refusal growing in their faces. Denial of reality. This denial
was often a source of pride in humanity. A willingness to face a
bleak future with hope. But T'Selar saw it only as a source of
needless frustration.
To much energy was spent on these hopes.
They did not understand.
The chirp of his communicator cut Picard off before he could
speak. Data had finished his task.
"Captain, I have isolated seven worlds which have mulitple moons,
bodies of standing water, and are known to support life, or have a
high probability of being able to support life - and are within
the estimated ranges for Cadet Crusher's primitive Bird of Prey."
Picard nodded, though he knew Data couldn't see him. There was
nothing left for him to do, here. The Doctors would be able to
choose the best course of action without him. He said as much.
The two doctors watched him go. Beverly turned to T'Selar.
"So, what do we do?"
____________
The dreams had grown stronger. More intense. Longer. Wesley
knew he was moving in the right direction, but what would he find
when he got there?
Who cared?
It would be something different. Something beyond... Beyond
what? He didn't care. Very soon, he would be landing on this
strange world of two moons. And then he would know.
____________
Picard listened intently to Data's analysis. What had been an
amusing development had taken on a terrifying, sinister edge. Two
members of his crew had been attacked. Guinan with horrible pain,
and Troi with the loss of her soul. And Wesley. What would
become of Wesley, if they failed to solve the mystery? And what
would prevent this being from striking again?
And what could they do about it?
And which world?
So many questions. But the answer to the last was imperative.
They couldn't begin to seek the answers to other questions until
they knew what they were dealing with. So, which world?
Three with no known life.
One world with a soup of early, primitive microbes.
One with several sophisticated civilizations, around the level of
feudal Japan or imperial China. Under full isolation by order of
the Federation as a developing world not yet ready for contact
with inter-stellar travellers.
Two member worlds of the Federation, crawling with all manner of
life, from every corner of explored space.
Could there be some unknown being on one of the three worlds
hospitable to life, but showing no signs? Could there be
something lurking in the primordial seas of the fourth world? Or
the fifth?
Or could someone, something, have infiltrated the Federation?
"Recommendation, Mr. Data?"
"Of the set, Captain, it is most likely that a powerful telepathic
being would be found on either of the two member worlds. Not only
would such a creature have the opportunity to develop there
naturally - but relatively open facilities for inter-planetary
travel increase the population pool essentially to all Federation
space."
"And it would be easier to hide," added Commander Riker grimly.
"And it would be easier for an incoming ship to be detected. Even
one that is cloaked," said Picard, "Wesley would know that."
"That is correct, Captain," replied Data, "but Wesley has no
reason to suspect we would be able to limit his destinations to
water-holding worlds with two or more moons."
Picard nodded. It did not feel right to him. But Wesley couldn't
possibly suspect they were on his trail. Of course, whatever
attacked Troi and Guinan knew. And, of course, whatever attacked
the two women and whatever 'seduced' Wesley into this game were
likely one and the same.
Picard didn't know what to do.
But he had to decide. He was the captain.
"Commander Riker, alert both member worlds of the situation.
Instruct them to use every available resource to track the Bird of
Prey. Commander Data, assist them in developing detection
algorithms."
"And us, Captain?" asked Riker.
"Set in a course for the fifth world. Maximum warp."
Data cocked his head to one side.
"Captain, that world is under maximum quarantine by order of the
Federation. It's civilization is not to be disturbed by any
contact with inter-stellar..."
"I am aware of that, Commander Data. Now, execute your
responsibilities. I will be in sick bay."
Picard stood. This would distribute the available resources over
the widest possible number of worlds. There was no need for the
Enterprise on either Federation planet.
And Picard had a strange feeling looking at the projected image of
that fifth world. A feeling he was right. The Enterprise
shuddered as he stepped into the turbo-lift. The warp engines
were bending the fabric of space. They were off into the unknown.
Not completely unknown, thought Picard grimly. Something out
there can kill across the void of space.